Chapter Forty-Five
“. . . Anyway, mathematical models that describe decoherence involve complex differential equations that track how quantum
states . . . Artie? Artie, are you asleep?” A small snuffly snore replies.
“Well,” I say softly to Forrest, who is sitting on a chair in the corner, “I hadn’t even got to the best bit yet. I guess
being a cow warrior is tiring.”
“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her go to sleep,” Forrest says softly, picking up her horned helmet and hanging it on the
back of the chair. “You’ve got a babysitting job anytime you want it.”
“Shame you’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic,” I reply.
“It is, isn’t it?” Forrest says, suddenly intense.
Quietly, we pad out of the room into the hallway, softly closing the door behind us.
“Artie is a great kid though,” I tell Forrest, “although, to be fair, she is pretty much the only little kid I know, so I
don’t have a lot of comparisons.”
“Well, I think she is the greatest little kid of all time,” Forrest says as we walk back downstairs.
“But I am biased. Anyway, I heard a rumour that if you happen to go outside to the garden, via the kitchen, there is quite a lot of champagne in the fridge, so much, in fact, that no one would notice if one or two went missing. Want to steal a bottle and go sit under our cedar trees? The . . . the cedar trees, I mean.” Forrest coughs.
“Sorry, Ava, I know I shouldn’t be suggesting things to you, not . . .”
“Like sitting under trees? You’re right, you scoundrel,” I say with a smile. “But actually, Forrest, you probably didn’t notice,
but I did get quite squiffy earlier, and so I don’t think any more champagne is a good idea. I might start saying my inside
thoughts out loud again.”
“But I like your inside thoughts,” Forrest says.
You don’t know the half of it, I think, firmly inside my head.
“But a hangover, huh? I might know just the thing for that.”
“Is it more champagne?” I ask.
“No,” he laughs. “But I am at risk of you calling me a scoundrel again.”
“Why?” I ask, trying not to sound intrigued.
“Did you know they have a swimming pool?” Forrest asks. “Other side of the house. Heated and everything.”
“I don’t have a costume . . .” I say.
“Oh no.” He grins. “We’d have to go skinny-dipping.”
“Forrest, I can’t,” I say, forcing myself to take a step back. This time I know exactly what I’m doing.
“God, I’m so sorry, Ava, I thought . . .” Forrest falters.
“That we have mad chemistry and that I’m looking at you as if I really want to snog your face off?” I ask.
“Something like that, yes.” He swallows. “Because I’d love to kiss you. Everywhere.”
“The truth is we do have mad chemistry. But there are two problems that get in the way of anything happening between us. One, before we could do any sort of . . . stuff, I have to tell Hal, as much as I care about him, that I don’t think we should be together in that way.”
“Of course,” Forrest says. “That’s only right. But please don’t rush into any decisions because of me. That wouldn’t be fair
to you or Hal.”
“I’m sure about how I feel about Hal,” I say, a little sad.
“What’s the other thing?” Forrest asks. “The other reason?”
“You’ll be gone in a few days,” I say. “And I wish I was the sort of grown-up, sophisticated woman who could have a fling
with a man passing through and then go back to my life like nothing happened, but the trouble is all of this is a first for
me. First time I’ve felt lustful feelings, first time I’ve . . . pretty much anything. And despite my best efforts, I really
like you, Forrest. The risk of me hurting myself by falling for you is really high. Then I’d have no choice but to pine after
you for a decade or so and, well, I just don’t think it’s a good life plan. It’s better to keep it like this. A fond-intense-sexual-yearning-but-still-just-good-friends
kind of thing. Because although that is almost unbearable, it’s only almost.”
Forrest frowns, dropping his chin for a moment before looking back up at me and almost stopping my heart with the look in
his eyes.
“I’m not the sort of guy to just have a casual fling either, you know,” Forrest says. “I married my college sweetheart. I’ve
never looked at another woman since. Until you.”
“I know.” I find myself taking his hand in both of mine. “And I know you are a good man, a kind and clever man that really cares about the world and people in it. That’s why I can’t lick you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Forrest asks.
“I . . . l . . . can’t like you, like that,” I splutter. “Because we both need and deserve something that can have a chance
to grow with someone we can keep forever. You feel that way too, don’t you?”
“I do,” Forrest says. “Yes, I do.”
“Good night, Forrest.” Letting go of his hand, I turn and slowly walk away, past the noise and ruckus of the wedding party,
down the still and shadowy corridor to the drawing room. Alone, Hal is sitting by an open French window, reading a book. He
looks up when I enter the room and smiles.
“Ava,” he says. “I’ve missed you.”
“I haven’t known what to say to you, until now,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’ve been waiting for you.”